


tender vexation

by mcbeefy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, So much bickering, omi as atsumu’s only impulse control, pro volleyballer miya atsumu attempts to speedrun online college while in quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29602620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcbeefy/pseuds/mcbeefy
Summary: The main problem with Atsumu is that he’s pretty much the human equivalent of a golden retriever, and you’re supposed to take those on twice-daily walks. But the whole quarantine thing means that that’s not really an option at this time, and not being able to go outside has made Atsumu slip into a bit of a slump. Worse, all of his restless energy is now being burned off indoors in a multitude of ways that are slowly chipping away at Kiyoomi’s composure.Atsumu’s quarantine interests are slowly but surely eroding Kiyoomi’s lifespan from pure stress alone.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 143
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	tender vexation

Sometime between the end of the first week of quarantine and the start of the second, Kiyoomi resigned himself to not knowing peace for the foreseeable future. He’d been glad about the whole thing at first, aside from the, uh, worldwide pandemic and the whole global panic over people dying. Obviously he wasn’t thrilled about that part. What he was content with, though, was the fact that college classes would be online for the whole semester: shortly after the stay-home order was issued, Kiyoomi had enrolled himself in grad school, seeing as games and practices were being cancelled left and right anyway. 

He’d dithered for a bit before deciding to go back to school, not wanting Atsumu to think he was giving up his volleyball career, but the opportunity to get his master’s degree without having to travel to campus or hold awkward conversations with over-friendly classmates, had been too good to pass up. In truth, Atsumu would be fully supportive of his decision if he ever voiced an intention to quit playing professionally for good, but Kiyoomi has a bad habit of overthinking even at the best of times, so he’d dawdled. He needn’t have worried though, because Atsumu ended up being so enthusiastic at the prospect of Kiyoomi furthering his education that he decided to enrol _himself_ in online university. 

Yes. Miya Atsumu is currently attempting college in quarantine. 

Predictably, he’s been far from conscientious about his studies. He attends his online lectures while still in bed, and Kiyoomi doesn’t think he’s seen him once do any of his assigned coursework. It hadn’t been like this at the start. He really had been excited about going back to school at first, had cleared a study space at his desk and purchased a dedicated notebook for each module he’d signed up for (which had been a lot, because he was fully intending to get his degree as fast as he could, so he could brag about it online). Kiyoomi had been stunned when he saw his boyfriend whip out a whole case of multi-coloured highlighters on his first day of class, sit down at his desk and obediently take down notes for the entire day. Ridiculously, he’d even worn a pair of wire-rimmed frames, despite his perfect vision and the glasses having no lenses in them. “It’s for the vibes, Omi-kun,” Atsumu had explained happily. “It’s the first day of school, and I need to leave a good impression on my teachers!”

It didn’t last long, though. 

Now, Atsumu doesn’t even bother getting out of bed in the morning. He’s resorted to placing his laptop on the floor by his side of the bed so he can just lean over and go to his virtual classroom in the morning after he’s snoozed through approximately six alarms. It’s a good thing most of his lecturers don’t require his camera to be on, because he really looks nothing close to presentable in the mornings. Half the time he doesn’t even have a shirt on. Or pants. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t know what’s happened to Atsumu, what’s caused him to lose his excitement so quickly. Except, well, that’s not really true. While Atsumu hasn’t been forthcoming as to why he now pads around their shared apartment with a storm cloud hanging over him all the time, Kiyoomi can hazard a pretty good guess as to why. The main problem with Atsumu is that he’s pretty much the human equivalent of a golden retriever, and you’re supposed to take those on twice-daily walks. But the whole quarantine thing means that that’s not really an option at this time, and not being able to go outside has made Atsumu slip into a bit of a slump. Worse, all of his restless energy is now being burned off indoors in a multitude of ways that are slowly chipping away at Kiyoomi’s composure. 

He’s witnessed Atsumu jump between six different hobbies in as many days, and it’s to his great consternation that all of his arts and crafts have involved extensive and rigorous cleanup processes, with Atsumu being far from meticulous enough to properly execute them. There’s a permanent blob of solidified clear gunk stuck to their coffee table now from Atsumu’s brief foray into the world of resin art, and Kiyoomi still finds himself from time to time stepping onto painful little seed beads weeks after Atsumu’s short-lived bracelet-making extravaganza. Their apartment is in constant disarray, the decibels are at an all-time high, and Kiyoomi is very quickly falling apart at the seams. 

“Atsumu, I just opened our bathroom cabinet and one of your knitting needles fell out onto my face,” Kiyoomi says, upset. “It could have taken my eye out.”

Atsumu lowers his phone from his ear, covering the bottom half of it. “Omi, those are _crochet hooks_ , not knitting needles.”

“Right, I’m sure that distinction matters when I’m rushing to the A&E with a stick through my eye,” Kiyoomi says dryly. “Can’t you clean up properly when you’re done with your hobbies?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Atsumu gives him a dismissive wave, then refocuses his attention to the phone in his hand. “Samu, you were saying? Auntie Haruko said _what_ to Auntie Miyoko?”

After a brief pause, Kiyoomi hears a sharp intake of air, then a delighted “No way! Next year’s family reunion is gonna be _so_ messy…”

Kiyoomi sighs, then goes back to the bathroom to retrieve the crochet hook from the cabinet. Atsumu had ordered these in a set of five, and Kiyoomi knows this because he’d been there when he opened the package, but he has no idea where the other four could be now. He lets out another sigh and deposits the wooden hook into the penguin pen holder on Atsumu’s desk. Then he looks about their shared study and suppresses the urge to let out a distressed scream at the disordered mess. 

Kiyoomi’s own desk is, as usual, immaculate. So clean and tidy is the state of it that it could very well belong in a catalogue for Nordic minimalist aesthetics. Atsumu’s, on the other hand, is a nightmare: loose-leaf papers clutter the workspace, stray pens are strewn across the entire area, and crumbs litter everywhere in between. His laptop hangs precariously off of one edge, the screensaver with a smiling fox seeming to mock Kiyoomi. He takes a step back, and fully turns away from the horror that is now a permanent fixture in his home. 

As he walks out to the living area, he sees that Atsumu is still chattering away loudly to his brother on the phone, the assigned reading for his literature elective lying forgotten beside him on the couch. The bluetooth speaker on the coffee table is blasting some bubblegum pop song Kiyoomi doesn’t recognize but already hates with every fiber of his being. He feels like an old and worn sweater, fraying at the seams and unravelling far too quickly out of control. 

Kiyoomi stumbles to their bedroom, swaddles himself with every single blanket they own, and crawls into bed. And then he just stares at the ceiling, too upset to fall asleep. He doesn’t know how long he just lies there, but eventually Atsumu comes looking for him.

“Omi?” Kiyoomi’s back is turned away from him but he can hear the surprise in his voice. He must think Kiyoomi's fast asleep, because his voice is soft when he says, “Oh, are we taking a nap now? What happened to having a ‘productive day’?” 

The teasing lilt of his voice carries over quietly as Atsumu crouches by the bedside, reaching out a hand to brush his hair back from his face. Kiyoomi shoots him a glare as he nears. 

“Hey, you’re awake!” Atsumu whispers out, sounding betrayed.

Kiyoomi lets out a disgruntled grunt, then burrows further into his bundle of blankets so Atsumu can’t see him. 

“Aw, are you sulking?”

When Kiyoomi doesn’t reply, Atsumu begins slowly petting the top of his head that sticks out from the swathe of yarn and fleece. “Is this about the crochet hook? I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

Kiyoomi lets out another grunt. He hears Atsumu sigh, then there’s the soft press of warm lips against his hairline, and another apology whispered against his skin. Kiyoomi reemerges from his cocoon, and fixes Atsumu with another glare, though there’s much less heat in it now. 

“Ooh, there’s my handsome boy!” Atsumu coos. “You were in there for so long, I’d almost forgotten what your lovely face looks like!”

“Clean your desk,” Kiyoomi grumbles, as Atsumu pinches his cheek. 

“Ugh. But Omi, you know I hate cleaning. It’s so boring,” Atsumu whines.

Kiyoomi continues to glare at him. Atsumu sighs. “Fine, fine. I’ll tidy up later. But only because I love you.”

He squishes Kiyoomi’s other cheek as he says this, smushing his face into strange expressions and delighting himself with the results. Kiyoomi feels his gaze soften at the sound of his giggles. 

“You promise?” He asks hopefully. “Our study looks like a pigsty. I can’t get any work done when it’s that disgusting.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll clean it up nice and tidy later,” Atsumu sings, running his hand lightly through Kiyoomi’s hair. “I’m gonna start making dinner now though, anything you want in particular?”

“Anything’s fine,” Kiyoomi mumbles, suddenly drowsy from the lulling effect of Atsumu’s fingers toying with his hair. 

“Okay,” Atsumu says softly, still stroking his hair. Kiyoomi feels his eyelids droop, and the last thing he remembers is Atsumu’s lips, warm against the curve of his cheek.  
  
  
  
  
When Kiyoomi opens his eyes, the room is shrouded in darkness, and there’s the fragrant smell of onion and spices in the air. He wiggles out of his swaddle of blankets, shivering lightly at the sudden loss of warmth before reaching for a sweater hanging over the back of a chair. It’s a little tight at the shoulders when he pulls it on, so he figures it was originally Atsumu’s. It’s hard to tell these days, when everything in their shared closet is free game to either of them. Well, except for Kiyoomi’s polo tees. Atsumu refuses to wear those, on account of not wanting to look like “a store employee or a trust fund baby who doesn’t know how to dress, there’s no in between, Omi-Omi”. 

He wanders into the kitchen to find Atsumu at the hob, stirring a pot of curry with an expression of deep concentration. Kiyoomi shuffles close to him and slips his arms around him, resting his chin on his shoulder. 

“Sleep well?” Atsumu asks softly. 

Kiyoomi hums in response, then tilts his head up when Atsumu offers him a spoonful of curry to taste. 

“Mm. It’s good,” Kiyoomi murmurs, then buries his face into Atsumu’s neck again. Atsumu makes a happy noise at his compliment.

They stand like that for a little while more, Kiyoomi pressing soft close-mouthed kisses to the side of Atsumu’s neck as he giggles and hums the same bubblegum pop song from earlier, though Kiyoomi finds it a lot more tolerable now that it’s coming from him. After awhile, the rice cooker beeps out a jaunty little jingle to let them know that it’s done, a function Kiyoomi hadn’t wanted in a daily kitchen appliance at all, but Atsumu had laughed so hard the first time he heard it in the department store that Kiyoomi found himself going back the next day just to purchase it.

“Omi, our daughter’s calling. Go get her.” 

“Don’t feel like it. Also our rice cooker isn’t our child,” Kiyoomi grumbles into his neck, unwilling to release the Atsumu-shaped heat pack he’s got his hands on. 

“Then you’ll have to let go of me so I can get the rice instead,” Atsumu laughs, tapping on Kiyoomi’s arms around his midsection. 

Kiyoomi frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that either, but he is kind of hungry, so he releases Atsumu with great reluctance. Atsumu turns around and gives him a poke in the cheek, then steps lightly around him to get to the rice cooker. Kiyoomi brings him two bowls to scoop the rice into. 

“Look at that, you aren’t totally useless in the kitchen after all,” Atsumu snickers. 

Kiyoomi scowls. Atsumu laughs again, then sends him off with the two bowls of rice and two sets of cutlery to set on the dining table. Well, whatever space is left of their dining table anyway. Atsumu began a 2000-piece jigsaw puzzle about a week ago, and got bored of it barely two days in. But by then he’d already completed a sizable chunk of it and was unwilling to put it away. Seeing it unfinished makes Kiyoomi’s eyebrow twitch, so he’s taken over puzzle-completing duties until Atsumu inevitably cycles through his newfound quarantine interests and returns back to jigsaw puzzles again. Unfortunately it’s taking Kiyoomi a long time to finish this particular puzzle on his own, because Atsumu, in all his infinite wisdom, had thrown the box out the same day he tipped two thousand tiny pieces of cardboard onto their dining table, leaving Kiyoomi without a clue as to what he’s supposed to be building. 

“Omi-kun, move aside! Hot stuff coming through!” Atsumu yells, bursting through the kitchen doorway holding the pot of curry with two mitten-clad hands. 

Kiyoomi scrambles to put the trivet down quickly, before his boyfriend can burn either his hands or their hardwood table. Atsumu plonks the heavy pot down with a groan, then straightens up to pull off his mismatched oven mitts. 

“Oh, and there’s the curry too, I guess,” he says breezily. Kiyoomi groans at his antics, rolling his eyes. 

Atsumu grins. “Alright, time to eat!”

With that, they sit down at the cramped space, knees knocking as they quibble over who gets the serving ladle. 

“Why didn’t you just bring two out?” Kiyoomi grumbles, scooping out a serving of curry. 

“Forgot. And I’m not getting up to get another.”

“Then you’ll just have to wait until I’m done. And if you even think of sticking your personal spoon into this pot, I will murder you in your sleep.”

“Aw, but it’s not like anyone else is gonna eat this. It’s just us. And you’re definitely fine with _my_ saliva, judging from how much you kissed me yesterday,” Atsumu says deviously, batting his eyelashes. 

Kiyoomi’s feels his ears heat at the memory. “Shut up. There’s no way we can finish all this, and I don’t want anybody’s saliva stewing in the leftovers overnight.”

Kiyoomi scoops out a particularly generous portion of carrots, potatoes, and chicken, then hands that bowl over to Atsumu, whose eyes light up when he realizes that Kiyoomi’s given him the chicken drumstick. Kiyoomi suppresses the blush that threatens to overtake his face when Atsumu directs that radiant smile at him. Two years of dating and Atsumu still manages to fluster him. Embarrassing.

Kiyoomi’s just finished scooping out his portion when Atsumu nudges his ankle under the table, hands preoccupied with holding his chopsticks and spoon. His cheeks are stuffed with curry and rice, bulging ridiculously like a hamster’s, and his eyes are focused on the puzzle off to the side. 

“What?” Kiyoomi asks mildly.

Atsumu swallows, then gestures with his chopsticks. “I think that piece goes there.”

Kiyoomi looks, and is very surprised to find that he’s right, especially considering the puzzle’s upside down from Atsumu’s perspective. He fixes the two pieces together, and then Atsumu’s pointing out another pair he thinks belong together. Oddly, he’s right again. 

“What, is this your hidden talent?” Kiyoomi huffs out in amusement. “Solving jigsaw puzzles upside down?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen. “Do you think I can get into the Guinness World Records?”

“What, for being the biggest idiot out there?” 

Atsumu scowls, then sends a swift kick into Kiyoomi’s shin. Kiyoomi grunts in pain. Atsumu sticks his tongue out at him.

They spend the rest of dinner bickering like this, with Atsumu occasionally guiding him in solving more of the jigsaw puzzle. When they’re finished eating, Sakusa lets Atsumu skip off for a shower as he does the dishes. 

He’s wiping down the kitchen counter when Atsumu reappears in the kitchen, hair wet and towel around his shoulders. 

“Hey, Omi. I was thinking in the shower, and I think I wanna try making soap next,” He says, eyes gleaming under the kitchen lights. 

Kiyoomi groans.  
  
  
  
  
Much to his relief, Atsumu doesn’t end up making soap in the end. After much cajoling, Kiyoomi manages to convince him that soapmaking is much too dangerous a craft for him to attempt at home by himself.  
  
( _”You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Kiyoomi sighs. “There’s chemicals involved, and some of them are corrosive, Atsumu.”_

_“I’ll be careful!”_

_“You’re never careful.”_

_“But it’s soap, Omi! You love soap. It’s all clean and stuff.”_

_“You know what I’d love more? Not having to rush my boyfriend to the ER because he gave himself a chemical burn from DIY soap.”_

_“Fine,” Atsumu acquiesces grumpily. “No soap.”_ )  
  
Kiyoomi had never heaved a larger sigh of relief than when Atsumu finally backed down from the idea of soapmaking. He loves his boyfriend, and he’ll support all his passions in a heartbeat, but for all his grace and agility on the court, Atsumu is a bumbling mess the minute he walks out the gym. Just the other day he burned his finger with the hot glue gun while scrapbooking, and couldn’t unlock his iPad because he’d set it to touch ID and the sensor could no longer recognize his fingerprint-less thumb. It's perplexing, how the same man who pulls off emergency sets with such finesse and aplomb, can trip on flat ground a minimum of two times a week. So the idea of Atsumu handling caustic lye water is almost enough to give Kiyoomi the beginnings of a peptic ulcer.

As it turns out, Atsumu hadn't even been that interested in making soap in the first place — it had actually been the decorating portion of soapmaking that he'd been most excited to try out. Having made the brilliant connection that piping a cake is much the same as soap decorating, Atsumu has now set his sights on baking. Kiyoomi had suggested he just get a ready-made cake and skip to the decorating step, but he's insistent on making it from scratch. Still, Kiyoomi isn't too worried about this. Sure, Atsumu baking from scratch means more clean-up, but it still wouldn’t be as dangerous as him attempting saponification unsupervised. Besides, Atsumu’s more than a decent cook, and baking doesn't seem like that far a cry from cooking. He would be fine, Kiyoomi thinks. 

Unfortunately, as is the case with most things Atsumu attempts, he jumps into it headfirst without doing proper research. This is how he finds out the hard way that baking, unlike cooking, requires strict adherence to the recipe. See, Atsumu’s a good cook but a lot of that is based on intuition and tasting as he goes. With baking, there isn’t as much room for experimenting and definitely no tasting until the end product is finished. 

“Stop that,” Kiyoomi demands, snatching the wooden spoon out of Atsumu’s hand. That’s the fifth time he’s caught him trying to lick the batter. “You’re gonna get salmonella, you idiot.”

“But Omi,” Atsumu whines. “How else am I supposed to know if it’ll come out tasting good?”

“By following the recipe, that’s how.”

“That’s boring.”

Kiyoomi ignores his grumbling, and reaches over for the recipe Atsumu had printed out and promptly discarded. He scans the document quickly, then turns to eye Atsumu suspiciously. “Did you measure anything in here?”

“Yes?”

“Why did that sound like a question?”

Atsumu avoids his eyes when he answers. “Oh, you know. It’s an American recipe. I don’t understand their measurements,” he says airily. 

“So you just didn’t measure at all.”

“...Yes.”

Kiyoomi sighs exasperatedly. “There are plenty of online websites that convert imperial measurements to the metric system.”

“But that’s troublesome,” Atsumu grumbles. 

Kiyoomi fixes him with a stern look. Atsumu relents. “Fine, I’ll do the conversions and start over.”

Kiyoomi moves to walk out of the kitchen, then suddenly remembers something of grave importance. He snaps his head back. “Atsumu, you do remember that Fahrenheit and Celsius are different, right?”

Atsumu blinks. Then his eyes widen in realization. Kiyoomi groans. “You would have burned our house down if I hadn’t said that, wouldn’t you?”

Atsumu gives him a sheepish look, then shuffles over guiltily to lower the temperature he’s preheated the oven to. Kiyoomi steps back out to return to his online lecture, but keeps only one earbud in so he can monitor if Atsumu’s about to do something dangerous, something stupid, or an awful combination of both.  
  
  
  
  
When the aroma of vanilla comes wafting out of the kitchen, Kiyoomi saves the essay he’s been working on (the word document is autosaved but Kiyoomi’s eternally paranoid) and stands up, stretching. Then he gingerly steps into the kitchen, pleasantly surprised to find that there’s a pan of cake batter sitting in the oven and only a fine dusting of flour and sugar all over the kitchen counter. There isn’t even any raw egg on any of the kitchen surfaces. 

“What’s this?” Kiyoomi asks, astonished. “Did you swoop in during the night and replace my boyfriend?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Atsumu says dryly. “I’m not always a slob, you know.”

Kiyoomi raises a brow. “Could’ve fooled me there.”

Atsumu glares at him as Kiyoomi gets a glass of water. He sips his water, watching Atsumu wipe at the counter. Something occurs to him then.

“Atsumu.”

“What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be having an online lecture right now?”

Atsumu pretends not to hear him. 

“Atsumu. Look at me.”

Atsumu keeps his head bowed, scrubbing at the counter intensely. Kiyoomi makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat, then hip-checks Atsumu out of the way. “Shoo. Go watch your lecture now. I’ll clean up for you.”

Atsumu groans. Kiyoomi gives him a pointed look, then watches as Atsumu shuffles out of the kitchen reluctantly.  
  
  
  
  
Kiyoomi is impressed. Atsumu’s actually done a pretty good job of creating a decent-looking cake. The consistency of the frosting is a little bit off, because the buttercream recipe had called for an electric mixer and they didn’t have one of those, so Atsumu had hand-whipped the entire thing while listening to his lecturer drone on. Also, he’d gotten a hand cramp halfway through and had to scream for Kiyoomi to come rescue him, and they only realized much later that his webcam was on the entire time, leaving over a hundred of Atsumu’s coursemates to witness the entire spectacle. 

Anyway, the cake is a little wonky, but Kiyoomi supposes that’s part of its charm. Atsumu had tried drawing both their faces in icing, but used a piping tip that was way too large, so he ended up with a messy blob in the center of the cake instead. He now stands frowning at it, hands on his hips as he appraises his handiwork. Kiyoomi leans over to inspect it. 

“I think you did a good job, I can really see the resemblance.”

“Shut it, Omi-Omi.” 

Kiyoomi snickers. 

“I’m covering it up with fruit,” Atsumu declares, then begins to raid their fridge. 

“Fruit?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu replies, head buried in the produce drawer of their fridge. “That’s a thing, right? People put fresh fruit on cakes?”

“I think so? But we don’t have that kind of fruit. We’ve only got—”

“Apples.” 

“Apples,” Kiyoomi agrees. 

Atsumu pulls the bag of Granny Smith out, frowning at it. “People don’t put cut apples on iced cakes, do they?”

“Don’t think so.”

Atsumu continues to stand there, staring at the bag of apples and looking comically perplexed. Kiyoomi feels a laugh bubble out of him. Atsumu’s head snaps up. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you!” Kiyoomi says, stifling his laughter. “Okay, I am, but only because you look so ridiculous right now.”

“You know what? I was gonna try and make this cake all pretty and nice but you’re being mean so here’s your messy blobby cake,” Atsumu huffs. 

Kiyoomi blinks. “You were making that for me?” 

“Yes, obviously,” Atsumu says moodily. 

“But it’s not even my birthday.”

“I wanted to cheer you up, stupid,” Atsumu grumbles, still looking away. 

“Cheer me up?” Kiyoomi asks, confused. 

“Yes,” Atsumu says exasperatedly. “I know you’ve been all bummed out over this quarantine thing because you’re stuck with me all the time now and I don’t mean to be difficult on purpose but I end up driving you up the wall anyway, so I wanted to do something nice for you, but I messed it up like always. So. Here’s your cake.” 

He’s full-on sulking now, refusing to make eye contact with Kiyoomi as he kicks at the ground with his fluffy animal slippers (Kiyoomi’s got matching ones). 

“Atsu,” Kiyoomi calls softly. When he doesn’t get a response, he steps closer and wraps his arms around Atsumu, placing a light kiss on the top of his head. 

“You don’t drive me up the wall,” he says softly, rubbing gentle circles into Atsumu's back. “Sure, you make me anxious sometimes with the kind of activities you’ve been getting up to, like mixing resin without wearing a proper mask, but that’s only because I want you to be safe.”

“I’m sorry for always creating messes around the house and not cleaning up properly,” Atsumu mumbles out, voice muffled with how his face is buried into the collar of Kiyoomi’s sweater. Kiyoomi strokes his hair gently. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says quietly. “I’m not the nicest person to be quarantined with either. I know this whole staying at home thing has been a lot harder on you than for me, so I’m sorry for nagging on you all the time.”

Atsumu’s arms snake around Kiyoomi’s middle as he hugs him back. “Hey, Omi?”

“Hm?” Kiyoomi hums.

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

“I dunno. Just for being here, I guess. You make quarantine a lot more bearable.” 

Kiyoomi pulls back slightly, enough to look at his face. Atsumu blinks up hesitantly, suddenly shy. Kiyoomi smiles softly at him. “That should be my line, Atsumu.”

Then he drops a kiss on the tip of Atsumu’s nose. Atsumu giggles. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s heard it, Atsumu’s laughter will always be his favourite thing in the world. He tickles Atsumu’s sides just to hear that tinkling sound again. 

“S-stop!” Atsumu shrieks. “I’m ticklish!”

“Yeah, I know,” Kiyoomi laughs quietly, endlessly endeared and eternally fond.

**Author's Note:**

> atsumu eventually graduates from online university with honours bc he’s a smart lil dude like that
> 
> im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


End file.
